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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408973">This Is Not Our Goodbye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky'>DarkHeartInTheSky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Day 0: Carry On, Depressed Dean Winchester, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Suicidal Thoughts, Their love was real, repeat after me: the finale does not exist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:55:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is going to get Castiel out of the Empty, no matter what it takes, even if he has to do it himself. Not even the new "hands-off" Jack will be able to stop him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Their Love Was Real: a Destiel &amp; Saileen Fanworks Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's been a while, hasn't it? Hope y'all are doing good! This is my contribution to the wonderful challenge my friends set up: Their Love Was Real, celebrating the love between Dean and Cas and Sam and Eileen. Because everyone deserved better. </p><p>This fic will deal with some dark themes -- please note the tags -- but I promise it has a happy ending! And if you have any questions or concerns about any of the tags, you can message me on my tumblr: castielsdisciple, and I will gladly clarify anything you need!</p><p>Strap on your seat belts because it's gonna be a bumpy ride.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> ‘Cause I see you in the daytime  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I hear you at night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s a pale imitation burnt in my eyes  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t want to be here  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t know what to do  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sometimes I’d rather be dead </em>
</p><p>
  <em> At least then I’m with you  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>--<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEHzoTDmlSs&amp;ab_channel=AmberRunVEVO">Amen, Amber Run</a> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
His alarm buzzes and buzzes and buzzes, vibrating against the wooden nightstand. He reaches out, eyes still closed, and smacks his phone to snooze, then turns his face back into the pillow. Miracle whines, nuzzling at his face, sniffing and sneezing, and when he gets no response, he starts to lick incessantly. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Dean grunts, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. They’re crusty, and his throat is dry. He grabs the half-empty beer bottle that rests on his nightstand and takes a long swing. </p><p> </p><p>He stands, and his legs wobble like jelly. He grabs his dead guy robe off the hook and cinches it as the waist. He sticks his feet into his slippers. He walks past his desk, and he adamantly avoids looking at the bloody jacket that rests on the back of the chair. He takes Miracle up the stairs outside, where the bitter wind bites at Dean’s skin. </p><p> </p><p>Miracle does his business, and by the time Dean comes back inside, down the stairs, Sam is up and in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around. The smell of bacon sizzles. </p><p> </p><p>Dean watches from the doorway for a moment. EIleen sits at the bar counter, signing excitedly. Sam’s face is flush and he’s grinning wider than Dean’s seen in years. </p><p> </p><p>And then Sam notices Dean, and the smile melts. He clears his throat, back to serious-Sam, the Sam that’s hovered ever since they defeated Chuck and Jack left to go be in the rain or leaves or whatever. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says, sliding around the island. Eileen turns and signs<em> good morning </em>, grinning, but it’s nervous, stilted. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Sam says, waving the tongs around in the air. “You want breakfast? Bacon’s almost done. I made pancakes too.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean sniffs the air and his stomach churns. His esophagus burns. He shakes his head. “No, thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>He feels Sam’s frown burning into his back.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re turning down bacon?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not hungry, Sam,” Dean says, pouring a cup of coffee. He takes a sip and grimaces; it’s weak. He reaches into the cabinet overhead, grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels, and pours a generous shot into his mug. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he snaps, bracing against the counter and taking a long sip. That’s much better.</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s eyes are full of disappointment. He shakes his head. Eileen’s eyes are wide and worried. “It’s nine a.m., dude.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you know what they say; it’s five o clock somewhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and that somewhere is not here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” EIleen asks.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no I’m not okay, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sit in my room, watch cartoons, and enjoy my coffee. Is that such a crime?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam and Eileen share a look. Dean takes another long sip. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean, it’s been six months.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?” he shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“What you’re doing, it’s not healthy.” </p><p> </p><p>“And that’s my cue.” He exits the kitchen, ignoring Sam and EIleen calling after him. He settles back into bed, getting under the covers. He grabs his laptop and loads up <em> Scooby-Doo </em>. He tries to focus on the colors and the animation and the case the Scooby gang is working, but he finds himself drifting off, losing focus; when he comes back, he’s missed a few seconds, vital in a program that’s only twenty minutes long. </p><p> </p><p>So he tries even harder to focus, but the more he tries, the more difficult it becomes. His eyes keep drifting off to the jacket on his desk chair, that bloody handprint still as vibrant and red as the day — </p><p> </p><p>He takes another sip of his liquor infused coffee, throat now numb to the burn. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually the coffee runs out, so he finishes the beer on the nightstand. It’s half-empty, stale and lukewarm, but he finishes it down in just a few swallows, then grabs the case he keeps stashed under the bed. The liquid hisses when he twists the cap off. He aims for the trash can, but it bounces off the rim, and falls to the floor, joining the pile that’s collected in the corner of his room. </p><p> </p><p>A few hours later, he can’t ignore the stinging pain in his stomach. He cinches his robe tighter around his waist. He opens the door and almost trips over Miracle. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, boy,” Dean says, reaching down to run his fingers through the dog’s fur. It’s thick and soft — Sam must’ve just given him a bath, because he’s slightly damp. Miracle’s tail thumps against the concrete floor and he licks Dean’s face. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.”</p><p>He quietly walks into the kitchen, peers around the corner, and is relieved when he sees it’s empty. His stomach grumbles, but he doesn’t have the energy to cook. He goes to the pantry and grabs a box of cereal, and he eats it out of the box, dry, by handfuls. He briefly wonders where Sam and Eileen have gotten off to, between swallows. </p><p> </p><p>He wanders around the bunker, the box of cereal close to his chest. It’s been quiet these last six months. Not a peaceful quiet, or an eerie, foreboding quiet, like the kind that occurs before a tsunami smashes down on an unsuspecting beach. It’s been an anxious, itching quiet, the sort that leaves Dean awake tossing and turning most of the night, until he mixes beer with Ambien, the kind that leaves a wide, gaping hole in his chest, the kind that says, something’s missing, something’s missing, something’s missing — </p><p> </p><p>And then he finds himself in front of The Door. He waits. And waits. And his heart is tight and burning in his chest again, just like it was when Billie was crushing it from the inside. Except this time there’s no comfortable, familiar arm holding him up. No voice by his ear, reassuring, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” It’s just him, and The Door, and the pain that won’t go away, no matter how much he sleeps, or drinks, or wishes it would just <em> stop </em>. </p><p> </p><p>And his eyes are burning, and it’s hard to breath, and he knows what’s behind that door, sees it every night no matter how much he wishes he didn’t, no matter how hard he tries to focus on anything else, no matter how tightly he closes his eyes. They’re free, they’re supposed to be free, their life is their own now, for the first time ever, there is no puppet master, they’re free, they’re free — </p><p> </p><p>But was the cost worth it?</p><p> </p><p>He puts his hand on the door and it burns. He yanks away, yelping, and he drops the box of cereal and the remnants spill everywhere. Miracle starts to happily eat at the droppings, but Dean’s heart is hammering against his ribs, his eyes are burning, his lungs are too small — </p><p> </p><p>He collapses to the floor and starts to sob.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He comes to when Sam starts shaking him. He pulls his head from his knees and blinks away the tears. Sam comes into focus slowly. His eyebrows are pressed together, frowning. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean?” </p><p> </p><p>Dean sniffs and rubs at his eyes. “What?” he barks.</p><p> </p><p>Sam chews on his lip. “Dean, are you ever going to talk about it?” </p><p> </p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snaps. Then he notices that Sam is dressed up in a nice jacket, with a tie, and his hair is even slicked back with gel. It clicks then that it’s Saturday. Date night for Sam and Eileen. He rubs at his eyes again, fighting to compose his voice. “Better not be late for your date. Eileen might get pissed.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have to go out,” Sam says. “We can order pizza. Eileen will understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to babysit me.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re worried about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well,” he pushes himself to his feet, only stumbling a little. He leans his weight against the wall and avoids looking at The Door. “You can stop.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam looks at The Door, then back to Dean. “What is with you and this room? Is this about what happened to Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” he says warningly. </p><p> </p><p>Sam’s about to say more, but then Eileen enters, her heels clacking against the floor. She’s wearing a long, red dress, and her hair is up in a bun. She looks beautiful. Dean’s happy for Sam, and jealous of him at the same time. And then he’s angry at himself for being jealous. Sam deserves happiness, he’s got his happiness, Dean should be happy for him — </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse — I wondered what could it be? What my true happiness could even look like.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but tears still manage to leak out. </p><p> </p><p>“Dean?” Eileen says. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Happiness isn’t in the having; it’s just in saying it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And now Dean can never say it. How is he supposed to have his happiness if he can’t say it? How could Cas do that to him, leave him, like <em> that </em> ? How could he just say <em> that </em> and then leave, forever?</p><p> </p><p>“You stupid son of a bitch!” Dean says, slamming his hand against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says, pulling Dean’s hand back. Sam looks over at Eileen; out of the corner of his eyes, Dean sees him sign something to Eileen. It’s hard to make out through his blurry vision. </p><p> </p><p>Eileen nods. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam signs thank you. He takes Dean’s shoulder and Dean yanks out of his grip. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t touch me,” he hisses. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, what am I supposed to do, Dean? You barely eat, barely sleep. You won’t talk about it. You just drink and drink and stare at this door for hours every day! This isn’t healthy, this isn’t — “</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you fucking say it — “</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t what Cas would want for you!”</p><p> </p><p>Dean punches him. Not as hard as he would like — his knuckles are bruised and aching from the wall, but it feels good. </p><p> </p><p>And then Eileen’s shoved him against the wall, her elbow pushed into his neck. “Stop,” she says, looking him dead in the eye. “Dean, you need help.” She looks over her shoulder. “Sam, are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Sam says, nodding. He makes the sign for it as well, even though blood is pouring out his nose onto his tie. </p><p> </p><p>Eileen looks back at Dean. “Are you done?”</p><p> </p><p>Dean nods. Eileen releases him, and Dean rubs at his throat. Damn, she’s strong. “You need to face it,” she says, walking towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” Dean barely whispers. But Eileen opens the door, and it creaks loudly. He can look through to the other end, the dungeon, sees the spot that the black goo entered and shot out and — </p><p> </p><p>He bends over and vomits. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>He’s back in bed, head pounding. Miracle is resting by his feet, hot as a furnace. Dean stares at the bloody handprint on the jacket. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he forces himself out from under the covers and grabs the jacket, pinching the fabric beneath his fingers. He smells it. It smells like dust and nothing else. But Dean slips it on and leaves his room. It’s late. Sam and Eileen are in bed by now. He walks down the hallway and stands in front of the door to Cas’s. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He pushes it open and steps inside. </p><p> </p><p>Despite the musty smell of being closed for so long, it’s military orderly. The bed is made, with the sheets tucked underneath the mattress. The pillows are fluffed. There’s nothing out of place. The only thing to even suggest that this room was once occupied are the small trinkets on the desk. Dean approaches it, runs his fingers over the large tome that reads <em> On Deities and their Demise </em>. There are some photos spread across the desktop. One of Sam and Dean on separate sides of the Impala’s hood, looking at a map. One of Claire and Kaia, that looks like a selfie. They’re pressed together, grinning. </p><p> </p><p>There’s one of Jack, smiling wide, eager, and innocent. He’s waving at the camera. </p><p> </p><p>Dean stares at that photo for a long time. Then, he crushes it in his hands and dumps it into the trash bin. </p><p> </p><p>He leaves Cas’s room, closing the door behind him, and heads to the armory. The walls are loaded with guns, knives, maces, nun-chucks, spears — weapons of all kinds, collected across the centuries. He ponders, running his fingers over various ones, testing the weight in his hands. But he doesn’t have the weapon he needs — he did once, but the image of it melting in Lilith’s hands like gold still sticks out vividly. Dean puts the spear back onto the rack, spins some, frowns. </p><p> </p><p>Is there anything in here that can wound God?</p><p> </p><p>His eyes focus on the archangel blade hanging beside the collection of knives, katanas, karambits, and schmitas. He takes it off the rack, running his fingers over the spiraled blade. It’s light as a feather in his hands. He closes his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Jack,” he says, saying the same outloud for the first time in months. It feels foreign around his tongue. “Jack, you better got your ears on. And you better not fucking ignore me this time.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>back for chapter two! thanks to everyone that's been reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and reblogging! I appreciate everyone of you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish someone would explain to me </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How losing you is gonna make me feel </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like someone shot a hole in me </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And let me out for the wolves to eat </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYvYHXOs-eo&amp;ab_channel=EmilyJ">Blood and Bones, Kodaline </a></span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Dean waits in the clearing down the road from the bunker’s entrance. The trees are tall and old, probably having been here since before the Revolutionary War. He paces back and forth between the elms, arms wrapped around his torso. It’s November and nearly freezing - he can see his breath in front of his face, and he’s only dressed in sleepwear, his dead guy robe, the bloody jacket thrown over that, and slippers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He screams for hours, until his voice is hoarse, and then he keeps going, even when the words start cracking and his throat begs for relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack! Jack get your holy ass down here right now! We need to talk!” His knuckles still ache from when he punched the wall, then Sam. He feels slightly bad about that, but he can apologize later. Right now — now he needs to do this. He needs to get this done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The archangel blade is tucked away into his pockets, but every now and then he reaches and touches it, just for something to do with his hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You son of a bitch, get down here now!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a sound of flapping wings. Dean sighs in relief. Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he’s slammed against a tree, held up by the lapels of his robe, feet dangling off the ground. Jack’s eyes are glowing that familiar, eerie yellow, nostrils snorting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother is not a bitch,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean swallows. “I know.” Jack drops him. “Good to finally see you too, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyes soften and return to that familiar green color. There’s something different behind them now; no longer do they hold that childish naivete; behind his irises is something ancient and nondescript. Unearthly. Godly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You knew about that deal.” Dean brushes the robe off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jack says simply. “I was there when it was made.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean rolls his eyes and clenches his teeth. His tendons pull taut under his skin. That was over a year ago. A year, he was kept in the dark, Cas carried that — that </span>
  <em>
    <span>burden</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “And you didn’t say anything because?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He asked me not to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods, chews on his lip. “Right. Of course. Of fucking course he would. Stupid secret keeping mother — “ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want, Dean?” Jack’s voice is clipped, teetering on annoyed. His teeth even click. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what I want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks pained. Like Dean hit him. “Dean, I can’t.” He even manages to sound sad about it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Dean approaches Jack. “You brought everyone else back just like that.” Dean snaps his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone else wasn’t in the Empty. My powers don’t reach there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you’re just lying.” Dean’s blood boils under his skin. “You woke him up the first time.” He sticks his hand in his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the angel blade. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The first time, I wasn’t God.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stares at him. Jack sighs, exasperated. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Empty and God — the original God — made a pact long ago. God needed some place to store the consciousnesses of dead angels and demons. They have to go somewhere. It’s the law of matter — it cannot be created nor destroyed, only moved. So, God got to store them in the Empty, the Empty uses their energy to sustain itself, and God cannot interfere there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you even tried?” Dean whispers. He takes another step forward, towering over Jack. But Jack just looks up, not intimidated in the least. He looks at Dean like every other cosmic entity — Dean’s just a gnat in their ear that won’t go away. “He stuck his neck out for you — protected you. You were born because he chose to protect you. He saw good in you, when almost no one else did. You owe it to him to try.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really think,” Jack says softly, but there’s an undercurrent of anger there, “that I haven’t even tried.” Jack blinks. His eyes swiftly drift to Dean’s hands, then back to Dean’s face. “You can take your hands off that thing. It won’t even nick me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s shoulders deflate. He pulls the archangel blade out of his pockets. The silver glints in the moonlight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, I really am truly sorry.” Jack’s voice cracks, and his eyes sparkle. “I want more than anything to save him. But I can't. He's my father, and I’m not able to save him..”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sob scratches at Dean’s throat. His lungs shudder behind his ribs. He braces his back against the elm tree to hold him up. The blade falls from his fingers into the dirt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There’s really nothing we can do?” He reaches up and puts his hand over the handprint. The only thing he has left of Cas — the last time Cas touched him, saved him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Jack’s crying now. Dean’s knees can’t hold him up anymore. He slides down to the ground. It’s freezing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They wait there for several moments. Dean eventually finds the energy to look up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he hurting?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack glances at the sky. “They dream. Every angel and demon in there, they sleep, and they </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>dream.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack hesitates. “Their fears. Their regrets.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Bet you’ve got a lot of those, Cas</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, gripping that handprint tighter, as though if he does it hard enough, he’ll be able to feel Cas again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then his brain clicks. “He’s dreaming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack nods. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at Jack. “There might be something we can do after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He and Jack enter the bunker and immediately go to the storerooms. Dean digs around in the “Gross Stuff” drawer, tossing anything that’s not what he’s looking for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, c’mon, we have to have some,” he mutters, while Jack stands awkwardly in the corner. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Sam appears rubbing his eyes. “Dean, it is three in the morning, what the fuck are you — Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack smiles and waves. “Hi, Sam!’</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, hi, Jack.” Dean feels Sam’s eyes burning into his back. “Dean, Jack’s here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> is Jack here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aha!” Dean cries in triumph. It’s a small piece, but it should do. It still stinks, but he doesn’t care. His heart races; adrenaline floods through his blood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, answer me!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean gets to his feet, just as Eileen comes around the corner, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Sam?” She gets closer, then stops beside Sam. “Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Jack signs, smiling widely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eileen frowns. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to find that out,” Sam grumbles, fingers signing a lot more fluidly than six months ago. “Dean, answer my question — what the hell is going on? What do you have?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to get Cas back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam sighs and rubs his eyes. Eileen frowns too, and leans into Sam’s side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” she says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you plan on doing that, huh? We’ve been down this route already. Dean, there’s no way for a human to get into the Empty.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, Jack here just gave me some pretty useful information.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam raises an eyebrow. “And that would be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean reveals what’s in his hand. “African dream root. Jack says the angels in the Empty are all dreaming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shares a look with Eileen. Then back to Dean. “You can’t be serious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As a heart attack.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls his eyes. “Do you have any of his DNA?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have this,” and Dean clasps his hand over the handprint, brushing against the dried blood. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do we even know if this will work?” This question is directed as Jack. Jack merely shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to try,” Dean snaps. “We can’t not try. If it was one of us, he’d try. You know he would. He wouldn’t ever give up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam inhales. “Okay. Okay, let’s say it does work, and you are able to get into Cas’s dream. What then? How are you gonna get him out?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He got himself out once, after he woke up. He just needs help waking up Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And if this doesn’t work?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll work.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It has to work. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m doing it, Sam. Right now. The only question is are you gonna stop me, or are you gonna stand in my way?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it safe?” Eileen asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s risk,” Sam answers. “If you die in Cas’s dream, you die for real.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that! I’m not an amateur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam glances between Eileen and Dean. “Jack will go with you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean shakes his head. “No. I go alone.” He sees Sam’s about to argue. He continues, “I need to speak to him alone. Sam, I have to do this.” Dean’s gaze slips to Eileen. Sam follows. And finally, finally, understanding clicks in Sam’s eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he says. “I get this is going to happen, whether I want it to or not. I’d rather it happen supervised than you do it behind our backs. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it safe. Let’s get it prepped.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In that moment, Dean feels lighter than he has in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe even years. He goes to get the other spell ingredients, and hears Sam behind him, talking to Jack. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you again,” Sam says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, they’re all waiting in the infirmary. Sam’s broken down the African dream root with the mortar and pestle, and mixed in all the other ingredients. He pours it into a tall glass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now we just need Cas’s DNA,” Sam says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean hesitates, pulling the jacket together around him, before he finally slips it off. He feels naked without it. He takes the bottle of water and rubs it over the sleeve until it’s soaked through. Then he wrings out the sleeve over the glass. Pinkish water drips into it. Dean wrings as much out as he can, and then he sets the jacket on the bleed. The handprint is now a messy stain. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay, because I’m gonna get him back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get killed,” Sam says, handing Dean the glass. Dean sits on the hospital bed, and the springs squeak under his weight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not planning on it,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods. “Bring him home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheers.” Dean raises the glass, then chugs it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s vile. Rancid, like rotten fish, but he forces it down. His head starts to throb. His vision starts to go black. He hears Sam giving orders to Jack and Eileen, but he can’t make out the words. He feels like he’s spinning — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then everything goes white. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, in the show, we see the Winchesters use hair as the ingredient for the African dream root spell. But the <a href="https://supernatural.fandom.com/wiki/African_Dream_Root">wiki</a> says you just need the dna of the person whom you want to dreamwalk with, so. . . I'm going with it. :) besides, I love the symbolism! </p>
<p>If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a <a href="https://castielsdisciple.tumblr.com/post/643041514351624192/this-is-not-our-goodbye">reblog</a> to share with your friends? </p>
<p>See y'all in the next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I survived the 2021 Texas Snowpocalypse!</p>
<p>Let's never do that again. </p>
<p>Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>All I want is nothing more</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To hear you knocking at my door</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Cause if I could see your face once more</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I would die a happy man, I’m sure</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6BwAWiHcSg&amp;ab_channel=Chan">All I Want</a>, Kodaline </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Dean opens his eyes, it’s to the sound of his voice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You tell Uriel or whoever . . . you do not want me doing this, trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Want it? No.” It’s — it’s Cas’s voice. The first time Dean’s heard it in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The low, serious gravel, that hint of emotion, even back then. Dean turns and sees Cas and himself — a much younger version, one still anxious and jittery, Hell still a bleeding wound instead of an aged scab. “But I’ve been told we need it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean glances to the door, feeling cold on the inside. He remembers this day well. He raises a hand to his cheek, the pain of a fractured bone from years ago flaring up again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Memory Dean paces around, knuckles pressed against his teeth. He’s still got Dad’s old leather jacket, the one that doesn’t fit. It hangs off him like he’s a skeleton. Memory Dean looks past the present Dean, to the steel door, marked with blood in all sorts of intricate sigils. Memory Dean can’t read them, but the Dean of now can; trap, contain, evil, father protect us. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Memory Dean looks back at Cas. “You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel and Memory Dean lock eyes. “For what it’s worth,” Castiel says, “I would give anything not to have you do this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Memory Dean doesn’t believe him, but the Dean of now does. The Dean that knows Cas hears the pain in his voice, the sincerity; he sees it in Cas’s eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Did you love me here?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dean thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You know what I did in Hell. All the angels did. And you never looked at me like I was poison.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean says, stepping forward — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he’s caught in a tornado. Spinning. Dizzy. When it stops, he stumbles, waving his arms to catch his balance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Memory Dean is in the hospital bed. He’s sleeping. The machines beep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Castiel sits in the chair by his side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean reaches out, hand shaking, eager to touch him. To throw his arms around him and never let go. “Cas?” He puts his hand on Cas’s shoulder. Cas flinches. He turns around and squints. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, it’s me,” Dean says, but Cas doesn’t respond. He looks around, tense, for something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t see me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean realizes, heart sinking into his stomach. “Castiel,” he says, louder, but still hesitant to yell, afraid of shattering something. “Castiel, open your eyes, damn it. It’s me, Dean. I’m right here. I have something to tell you — “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And he’s caught in the tornado again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gets to relive some of the worst moments of his life, but this time from Cas’s perspective. And it’s awful. Because all that time he thought Cas was heartless, spineless, he was wrong. He knows that now; but it’s awful seeing how wrong he was even back then. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You were wrong, Cas. You didn’t care about the world because of me. You always cared</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean sees when the angels rip Castiel from Jimmy Novak’s body and haul him up to heaven and tie him down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Castiel starts to scream, he looks away. Bloodied feathers lay at his feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack said the angels dream about their fears and their regrets — he never knew Cas had so many, still burdened on his shoulders, all these years later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not surprising when the tornado takes him to the year he was with Lisa. Dean stands beside Cas, and he watches Cas watch him rake leaves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were here,” Dean says. Cas, of course, does not answer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley appears then, greasy, with that easy grin and used car salesman attitude. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m an angel, you ass,” Cas tells him. “I don’t have a soul to sell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” Dean says, to no one. “Cas, don’t do this. You can bother me. I’ll help you — ask me and I’ll help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas doesn’t respond to him; he walks away with Crowley. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And the tornado comes back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From there, Dean can anticipate the punches. He sees Cas touch Sam’s forehead and Sam collapses (that one still hurts, years later), what the leviathans do to Cas from the inside, sees Cas walking into that lake, Cas touching Sam’s forehead again, this time to heal instead of hurt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s Purgatory. Cas, running every night. Dean hears his own prayers through Cas’s mind and he sees the regret on Cas’s face, the pain. And then a leviathan snakes behind Cas — but Cas’s blade drops into his hand and he sticks the end through the monster’s neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The corpse drops into the grass, eye sockets still smoking. And then Cas continues to move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the tornado takes him next time, it takes Dean a moment to realize where he is. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s in heaven, beside Cas. And in front of Cas is Naomi. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Castiel,” she says, smiling and tilting her head, but behind her eyes is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her movements are robotic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Castiel asks, glancing around at the too-white space. “Where am I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Naomi’s smile twitches. “You’ve been here many times. Have a sit.” Dean tenses up, reaches out to touch Cas’s shoulder, and Cas does not react. “We have to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean stands a horrified bystander, watching as Naomi conjures up dozens of appairations of Deans, stands horrified as she forces Castiel to kill them. He refuses at first, fights, kicking and snarling, spitting, but he’s always overpowered eventually, and every time he’s forced into a chair and Naomi takes that drill to his eye, huffing in annoyance, as blood and grace splatter around her. Still, Castiel fights, refuses, and again and again, he’s back in that chair, screaming like Dean’s never heard anyone scream before. Not even in Hell did they scream like that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean says, “Cas, this isn’t happening. It’s just a memory. I’m right here. I’m right here, you need to wake up, damn it, wake up!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the crypt, he sees Castiel struggling between what’s happening on Earth and what’s happening in Heaven, as Naomi controls his body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks down at his own bloody, fractured face and his heart freezes in his chest. He feels Cas’s horror; disgust, guilt, shame. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s over, Cas,” Dean pleads. “It was years ago. I’m not mad. I forgive you. Please, I need you to wake up! It’s just a dream.” At the same time, Memory Dean, on his knees, desperate and in pain, says, “Cas, I know you’re in there. I need you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks into his own eyes, processes his own words, and he wonders if this was when he first let himself acknowledge how important Cas was to him. Just like back then, now, the words are strong enough that Cas freezes. And in Heaven, he escapes Naomi’s iron-clad grip, as she screams that Heaven will never take him back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s hard to process it — all the times he thought Castiel was impassive, at times, </span>
  <em>
    <span>incapable</span>
  </em>
  <span> of feeling, knowing — knowing that underneath that stony exterior, the weight, the depth of what he felt — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s a pain he knows the taste of; that bitter, self-hatred that slips down and clogs the throat, sputters the heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel runs away with the tablet, listens to Dean’s prayers grow angrier and angrier, clutching his head and holding the stone close to his chest, because he thinks it’s the only thing protecting him from Naomi. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean feels the tornado brush up against him and he inhales, preparing for the trip. He knows what he’ll see next, and he knows it won’t be pretty to watch how Cas suffered as a human, knowing that it was his fault, because he was a coward, and he could’ve helped Cas, could’ve done more than hand him an old backpack with some spare clothes and all the cash he had on hand — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But when the tornado drops him, it’s not that memory. Cas is staring at him from across the library, but he’s not human, and Memory Dean is not sad, but angry. Pissed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Something went wrong,” Cas says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Something always goes wrong. You know this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no, no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dean thinks. Why this memory? Why now? There’s so much missing time, years of it. Human and homeless, the Mark, Lucifer — where is all that? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” his memory counterpart snaps, and Dean recoils at the acidic tone. “Why is that something always you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels Cas’s heart shatter and splinter, like Dean took a hammer to it. At the time, Dean purposefully lashed out; he wanted to be cruel. He was hurting, and he needed something to hurt, and Cas was — Cas was right there. But hearing the words, having to look at himself say those words — the cruelty is horrifying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Dean says, as the rest of the conversation plays out. Cas’s footsteps against the metal staircase, Memory Dean just sitting, there watching. This time, he follows Cas up the metal staircase. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Castiel stands outside the bunker for a longtime. Dean never realized how long Cas waited there before finally climbing into his truck and leaving. Waiting to see if Dean would stop him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m stopping you this time. Wake up so I can tell you to your face that I am sorry.” Dean grabs Cas’s elbow and tugs and prays and pleads, “Castiel, I need you to hear me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then, Castiel turns his head. He squints his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas, it’s me. I need you to wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s me.” Dean’s crying. “Are you awake?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas blinks. He stares down at his hands and flexes his fingers, then looks back at Dean. And then his eyes widen. “You shouldn’t be here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Since when do I follow the rules? I’m here. Are you really awake?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“African dream root. I’m gonna need to chug a pint of mouthwash to get the taste out, but it worked.” Dean laughs. He’s still holding onto Cas’s elbow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas swallows and takes a small step back. Dean tightens his grip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Dean,” Cas says, warningly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you know you’re an asshole?” Dean says. He looks straight into Cas’s eyes. His throat is tight. “You really thought you could just say — say </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then die, and leave me to what? Deal with it? Forever?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I — I — “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t get to do that. That’s not fair. That is not fair, because guess what, Cas? We beat Chuck, we got our free will, but it doesn’t mean anything to me if you’re not there to enjoy it with us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Standing there, Cas looks like he might cry again. “Dean, I’m s— “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t say sorry. Don’t you dare do it. It’s been — I’ve been miserable without you.” Hot tears race down Dean’s cheeks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t undo all that, won’t fill up this hole in my chest. Do you know how you make this up to me? You wake up. You come home with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas stutters a bit more, and then his eyes glide to the side of Dean’s head. Dean sees the change instantaneously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas says seriously. Dean looks behind him to see — himself. Another Dean, smirking, but its eyes are black puddles of that nightmarish ooze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How touching,” the Empty says. “That is a neat little trick there, but uh, you came for nothing.” It shrugs. “Castiel sealed the deal, buckaroo. Signed and notarized in triplicate.He’s gonna keep me company for a long, long time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like hell,” Dean snarls, facing the entity. He puts a protective arm in front of Cas. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, you need to go,” Cas says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Empty stamps his feet. “Quiet!” It screeches, and a high-pitched whine echoes in Dean’s ear. He covers his ears with his hands, wincing, but the Empty keeps talking. “Just be quiet!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Dean peels his hands away. “You just want to sleep, right? Let Cas go, and you can go right back to taking your little nap.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Empty sneers — it’s strange, seeing something so sinister wearing his face. Every expression is magnified; him, but not him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no, no, that’s not how this works,” it says in a sing-song. “Castiel, this was not part of our deal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re re-negotiating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas hisses.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen,” Dean turns and snaps, “I’m not leaving here without you. And this time, you are coming with me, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Empty snarls and snaps its fingers. Behind Dean, Cas falls to his knees, a mangled sound clawing out his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas has his hands wrapped around his head, teeth clenched, obviously trying as hard as he can to not scream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” the Empty says, pointing at Dean. “Leave. Go on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>vete</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Now. If I could, I’d keep you here too, just so I can prevent you from being a nuisance in the future, but unfortunately,” it grits his teeth, “God gets the claim on human souls. Even the new God wasn’t dumb enough to change </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> old contract. But I can make eternity for him,” it clenches its fingers into a fist, and Cas hunches even forward, no longer able to hold back the cry of pain, “a lot. More. painful.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean watches, horrified, and he stands there, frozen, not knowing what to do. Once more, just watching. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas meets his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And gestures. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Turn around</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his eyes say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice steady. Cool metal presses against the back of his palm. He turns his fingers — Cas’s angel blade. Dean’s heart hammers in his chest, realizing what Cas is asking him to do. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No claim on human souls</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “We can work something out, can’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re leaving. Now. One way trip back, and then the border’s closing!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Cas says. “Please. Let me say goodbye. And I won’t ever fight you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Empty sighs dramatically. “Fine. But only because you uphold your deals.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean swallows and presses his eyes closed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas says. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean spins around and with the angel blade, he slashes at Cas’s throat, where blue light and blood spill. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://castielsdisciple.tumblr.com/post/643194201191989248/this-is-not-our-goodbye">Rebloggable</a> version here -- if you enjoyed, maybe consider giving it a share? Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You keep me strong</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When I can’t carry on</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When you lose your feet</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fall down to your knees </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And your heart’s about to break</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I will be your saving grace. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgSP7yDDXpo&amp;ab_channel=Kodaline">Saving Grace</a>, Kodaline </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the Empty screeches, causing Dean’s ears to ring. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Cas falls to his knees, one hand on his throat, where blood and grace slip out, but he stares up at Dean through the bubbling red in his mouth. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What have you done?” Its eyes bubble — Dean’s reminded of the thick, gooey ozone in the dungeon, the way it moved like water, the way it shot forward and consumed and Cas, just standing there, crying and smiling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>letting it happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>— </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean meets its gaze. “I don’t see any angels here,” he says. “Just a couple of pathetic humans that you got no claim to, right?” He looks behind him at Cas. “Cas, wake up. Wake up now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn it</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Empty charges, those black tendrils coming at him, that screeching noise getting higher and higher, rattling the bones in Dean’s ears. Dean closes his eyes — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And shoots up from the bed in the infirmary. His heart is slamming against his ribs, throat swollen. His tongue still tastes like the African dream root. He coughs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re awake,” Sam says, immediately by his side. He puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, firm and strong, keeping Dean upright. Dean blinks against the harsh lights, tries to listen to what they’re all saying; everything sounds like it’s underwater. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas?” Dean says, barely able to hear himself. He looks down at his hands, expecting to see blood. But they’re plain, clean and calloused, like always. They’re shaking though. He’s cold. “Is he here? Do you see him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack, Sam and Eileen glance at each other, frowning. Panic sets it. Dean scrambles to get to his feet. He ends up falling straight off the bed with a grunt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam says, voice coming in clearer. “Dean, just hold on a minute.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is he?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blood and grace, drained from his hands. They’re still shaking. Did Cas get out? Or — was he even there? What if it was all just Dean’s dream?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean pushes himself to his feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He waited outside the bunker for you to come get him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean swallows, and he’s shivering. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” Sam’s asking. Eileen is signing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>are you okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>?, and Jack — Jack is just standing there, looking at him sadly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His heart is still pounding, and he looks at the supplies scattered on the table. The jacket, with its smeared handprint. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His breath catches in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he takes off down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, wait,” Sam calls after him; he’s taller, but even though Sam runs every day, Dean’s always been faster. His feet hit the concrete ground hard, and he uses his arms as pendulums. Time, time, does he have enough time? Blood leaking out like thick syrup. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s in front of The Door, the one that’s taunted him for the past six months, that one that doesn’t leave his nightmares alone. He touches the handle, pausing for only a second, eyes closed, a prayer on his lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He throws the door open. The shelves are still there, with their dusts and boxes, and past them, to the dungeon, curled on the floor — </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Sam stop behind him, hears the shock and surprise in Sam’s voice, and then he’s on the ground, by Cas’s side. Cas’s hand is still wrapped around his throat, fingers red — he’s pale.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack!” Dean snaps, turning his head. Jack, Eileen, and Sam stand at the threshold of the dungeon. “Jack, get your ass over here and help him!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I — “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not give me any of that “non-interference” crap, you owe him! Come here and </span>
  <em>
    <span>help him</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack enters, sneakers squeaking on the floor. He kneels down, stares at Cas for what feels like forever, then brushes his fingers over Cas’s forehead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas’s eyes snap open and he inhales. His hand falls from his throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blood is gone. His throat is unmarred. Dean still stares at that spot though, where blade met skin, and blue and red spilled out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stare at each other. Dean hesitates, hand trembling, before he puts it on Cas’s face. His cheek is warm under Dean’s touch; the slight stubble Cas always wore prickles his skin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re here,” he whispers, afraid to speak too loudly, in case this is a dream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here,” Cas says, putting his hand over Dean’s. “Hello, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Sam breathes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas’s eyes scan over the others, slightly dazed. “Hello Sam,” he says, tired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It worked,” Sam says breathlessly. Sam falls to his knees and joins in on the hug. Cas is crushed between them, but he’s grinning softly, those rare, shy smiles. “Cas, you’re back. Are you. . . ”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Human? Yes. And I’m alive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re so close, just inches away, and yet they’re miles apart. Everything Dean wants to say, do, he can’t; not right now, not with everyone watching. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, they sit there, for a while, until Dean’s feet go numb. Then, they stand. Cas stumbles a little, but Dean grabs his elbow, steadies him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack, who’d been waiting in the corner, steps forward. He throws his arms around Cas and cries into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas rubs his back and returns the hug. “Jack, it’s okay.” When the hug ends, Cas pushes a stray lock of hair out of Jack’s face. “God, huh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks at his hands. “I absorbed Chuck’s power,” he says. “I had to. It was the only way we could defeat him”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t what I wanted for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Jack’s eyes slide over to Dean and Sam. “Now that you’re back, it’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jack steps back and grins. It doesn’t meet his eyes; in those swim sadness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to go,” Sam says. “Jack, you’re family. Our family.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Jack says. “And I know that one day, I will see you all again. But Earth is for humans. Not gods. That was always the problem, wasn’t it?” His eyes linger on Cas. “Castiel, thank you for trusting me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then he’s gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stare at the empty space until Eileen finally breaks the silence. “Your lives are crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam huffs and smiles sadly. He intertwines his fingers with hers. “It’s your life now, too.” He looks at Dean and Cas curiously. “Human, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Cas says, touching his neck. “The Empty can’t hold humans.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. You hungry?”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caretaker is a mode Dean understands. He slips right into it, energized, and hungry himself for the first time in months. He sits Cas at the table in the kitchen and gets to work, buzzing with energy and anxiety. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam sits across from Cas and they talk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Dean hears Sam say, “for saving Dean,” and then Dean tunes them out, trying to focus on cooking. Eileen helps, chopping vegetables and seasoning meats, and they work in tandem, like they’d done it all their lives. The aromas tingle Dean’s nose and his stomach grumbles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the food is ready, Dean sits next to Cas, pressing their sides together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was it like there?” Eileen asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas puts his fork down and thinks. “It was like a nightmare.” His fingers sign fluidly, as though he’s known the language for years. “But I didn’t know I was dreaming. Not until Dean was there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean chews on a piece of meat until it’s nearly dust in his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay? With, y’know, being human?” Sam asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. I told Dean to do it — and if he hadn’t I wouldn’t have been able to leave. Being human, it’s a blessing, not a curse.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna go around and make any more stupid deals are you?” Dean asks, staring at his plate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t plan to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Words he can’t say yet press at his throat. He puts his utensils down and stands up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Sam says, but Dean walks out of the kitchen, until he can’t hear them anymore. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s a coward. He knows this. But he can’t just sit there and next to Cas and not talk about it, and he’s not going to talk about it in front of Sam. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an hour later when the others finish dinner. Dean hears them whispering, unable to make out the words, and then footsteps coming towards him. Footsteps waiting outside his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens the door to see Cas standing there, fist prepared to knock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get in here,” Dean says, tugging on the familiar coat sleeve. He closes the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, I’m sorry. I know I put a burden on you, and I never meant to — “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Dean says. He takes Cas’s face in his hands and kisses him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas stands there, still. And when Dean releases, he looks at him. Dean can’t hold back the tears anymore. They fall freely, hot and salty. He leans against Cas, and when Cas wraps his arms around him, Dean sobs freely. Cas rubs at his back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You asshole,” Dean continues, keeping one hand on Cas’s chest, feeling his beating heart. “You really think you can just say that to me and then go off and die? Again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean — “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I get to talk this time.” He pulls away just enough to look into Cas’s eyes. He remembers Cas’s eyes then, full of tears, glimmering even in the darkness. “Cas — “ </span>
  <em>
    <span>What I want is something I can’t have</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “How long did you wait?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas frowns, eyebrows furrowing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Outside the bunker door.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas’s hands stay on Dean’s back. “Hours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean spent hours in his room in the dark, drinking and drinking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What I saw, in your dreams. . . the angels, Naomi. . . was that real?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Cas looks up at the ceiling, muscles tensing. “She made me practice killing you, over and over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What good would it have done?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean doesn’t have an answer for that at first. He thinks and thinks. “So you wouldn’t have to carry it on your own. Just like that stupid deal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas is quiet</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean continues, “You could have me, you know. If you stay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to stay?” The genuine shock in his voice is heartbreaking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Dean’s voice cracks. More tears slip out. “You’re family. Why would you think I don’t want you to stay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you never ask.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you just let me go. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean raises his head so that they’re making eye contact. “Will you stay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cas smiles. “Of course, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dean grins. He tugs on Cas’s hand and steps back, until he falls backwards on the bed, pulling Cas with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s gentle kisses, soft touches, existing in the other’s space; an intimacy Dean hasn’t allowed himself in years. He thinks of Cas’s dreams, and every emotion Cas felt; all that self-doubt, hatred, </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The coldness that had permeated his bones for so long melts away. He is warm. And tired. And right there, next to Cas, he sleeps well for the first time in months, knowing that this time, Cas will be here when he wakes up.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you everyone for reading! i appreciate your patience and I hope you enjoy!</p>
<p>if you really liked it, could you please share? it would make me very happy </p>
<p><a href="https://castielsdisciple.tumblr.com/post/644501052543123456/this-is-not-our-goodbye-now-complete">Reblog Link</a> </p>
<p>you can also always say hi on tumblr!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you like this story, please consider reblogging and sharing with friends! <a href="https://castielsdisciple.tumblr.com/post/643041514351624192/this-is-not-our-goodbye">Reblog Link</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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